The dead shall live and their bodies will break
blue-grey remains from the wailing quave
with a graceful pain in gibbering wake
braced for the ache of an early grave
as whippoorwills long by a lonesome song
and killdeer shriek in protective feign
backwater source beyond the urban throng
sauntering storm of ensorcelled reign
the pink moon coos above my furtive pace
preens below the mass of grasping mire
this in-between lace ’round liminal space
keen for the rapture of wet desire
black goat from the pine with a thousand young
babbles pact along the drooling path
crawling chaos to the tip of my tongue
on tendrilled tracts of her pooling wrath
a tentacled throb in thunderhead cream
puckers in the mud and sucking blood
a tenebrous slithering throat to dream
of hardened fruit from the garden flood
my bags my boots my shirt my sins my tomb
my pensive leisure at rolling stone
as the light-bringer croons in dogwood bloom
questing for home made of flesh & bone
the dead will rise with their bodies in vain
a blue-grey pain from occulted drave
as dark clouds wake to the promise of rain
graced with the break of an empty grave.
Wicked write. Great rhymes and awesome flow!